


In my head (we belong)

by Hakyeonsmelanin



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bottom Yagami Light, Feels, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mutual Pining, Partner Betrayal, Sad Ending, Smut, They’re really mf obsessed with each other 💀😭, Top L!, Unhealthy Relationships, dominant L, split personality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:21:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24189586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hakyeonsmelanin/pseuds/Hakyeonsmelanin
Summary: Light isn’t sure of when he began to love L so deeply.Your typical Light and L fall in love during Yotsuba era only much sadder.
Relationships: L/Yagami Light
Comments: 4
Kudos: 77





	In my head (we belong)

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off of Streets—Doja cat! Lit rally luv, I was listening to the song and it’s just so sexy and dark, I thought that it fit Lawlight really well.
> 
> The worst by Jhene Aiko and toxic by Kehlani are some songs that also helped me in the writing process.
> 
> Anyways!! Please enjoy and don’t hesitate to let me know what you think :D comments and kudos are always appreciated and if you don’t give them then I’ll cry 😳🖐 I might add a chapter 2 if y’all give me clout
> 
> Lastly...MISA RIGHTS!! Light is a clapped incel that should’ve treated her better smh misa stans we ride at dawn

Light isn’t sure when he started to hate L a little less.

Dark discerning stares, the incessant rattling of steel, the sickly sweet aroma of candied strawberries, bickering that is just about playful _enough_ to hide the quiet malice they feel and hours spent hunched over glaring computer screens—all trivial, meaningless moments that merge into an indecipherable mess. 

Nothing is clean and systematic anymore. His memory is disjointed, a collection of jagged, misshapen puzzle pieces that don’t fit. It makes sense, he supposes. L is vicious in his tenacity, a true force to be reckoned with. The moment he had professed his identity in that graduation hall, Light’s entire life had been uprooted from its foundations. 

His memory, his mind in all of its brilliance, is but another victim of L.

”Would you like some?” A distinct baritone shatters his train of thought. He finds himself in the investigation headquarters, once more.

Wiry fingers grip a metal spoon, outstretching it in Light’s direction. He wrinkles his nose as the sugary lump of cake staring back at him.

”No, thank you.”

Light has always despised those decadent, overly-sweet flavours that coat every inch of the mouth. They parch and dry out his throat until it is sandpaper, until his voice loses its charming clarity.

They irritate his stomach until it lurches wildly, acids and innards spilling over one another, creating an uncomfortable hunch in his posture.

They nauseate him until his handsome, boyish features wrinkle and crease into something older and uglier.

They create cracks in the armour he has diligently crafted for years.

No, he has no use for childish confectionaries. Just looking at Ryuzaki’s morbid display of cakes is enough to sicken him.

He slides his eyes over onto the stack of reports printed and filed on his desk.

”Are you sure?” The detective’s voice is slurred through his chewing, spoon still suspended mid air.

Light resists the urge to roll his eyes and, instead, opts for a polite, hollow smile.

”Yes. Thank you for the offer though, Ryuzaki.” He nods curtly and attempts to immerse himself in the papers that lie neglected on his table. He notes that the detective is still peering over at him.

L continues to stare beadily at the younger man for several moments before spooning the dejected looking piece of cake into his mouth. He chews. Loudly. Light sighs gently, desperate to maintain a semblance of decorum.

It’s when the detective begins to smack his lips that Light finds he can’t contain himself.

” _Ryuzaki_ , I’m trying to work here.” He frowns tersely.

”I should hope so.”

Light’s frown deepens at the cool monotone of his voice. L, alongside being a complete eyesore and utterly unethical, is also a relentless moron. The younger man sighs, although this time with a force that makes the shackles on his wrist clatter noisily.

( _I hope he falls into a diabetic coma._ ) 

”I can’t work if you’re chewing that loudly. It’s distracting.”

Owlishly, L blinks. His thin lips flatten slightly as he nods in understanding. Light swivels back to his workstation, satisfied and ready to _finally_ read up on his report.

”What would Light-kun have me do then?” The detective breaks through the wonderful, blessed silence that has formed between the two of them again.

Light clenches a fist from underneath the table. There’s no way L isn’t mocking him—or wasn’t, rather, in the first place.

”...I would have you shut up and stop trying to shove your high cholesterol in my face.” He scowls, although L maintains a freakishly blank expression.

”So, if I chose to eat and offer foods to Light-kun that would lower my supposedly ‘high cholesterol’, it would prevent such childish outbursts?”

“Yes—wait— _childish_? You’re a grown man who ingests nothing but sugar!”

”Yes. Yes, I am.” L concludes with a touch of thoughtfulness.

The older man’s eyes flicker in deep contemplation, as though Light’s preference for _nutritious_ food is constitutes as evidence for his unfounded suspicions. Light huffs.

The next day, when L pulls out of a packet of carrot sticks and asks the younger man if he’d like any, Light is strangely touched.

It’s moments like these that fade into nothingness within his mind, something within him—a cruel whispering voice that rises from the pit of his subconscious— telling him that befriending L is and would be a futile ( _painful_ ) exercise.

For now, he smiles politely and bites into a thinly sliced piece of carrot.

~

He learns that privacy is a privilege, not a right, when chained to the world’s greatest detective.

They eat on the same kitchen table, sleep in the same bed and work in the same office so it is only rational that they shower in the same bathroom and at the same time.

Light, above all things, is rational. He knows he must maintain a cool facade and clear head if he is to prove his innocence but there a niggling, gnawing doubt within him that this has little to do with the Kira investigation at all.

It is a form of humiliation, all perversion and crudeness.

They shower in moderate silence, save for the sound of water rushing from the shower head above them—a light pleasant buzzing that comforts Light. It’s similar to the shower at home, making it easier to imagine himself back here.

He turns his back to the detective, scrambling for the slightest iota of privacy. All he receives is wide, calculated eyes that scan him critically.

There is something about being so intimately close to L that both frightens and soothes Light. A heat, a sense of comfort found in the presence of his bony, although surprisingly broad form.

It disgusts him to admit that showering would feel wrong had he been doing it alone.

Light surmises that he has been conditioned to feel this way. The chain that binds them is strong, an ever-present fixture in his life and with it comes L and all of his dark suspicions. It’s only natural for him to feel this way with the older man constantly trailing behind him, breathing down his neck and burning through his back with those huge, intrusive eyes.

It’s twisted and Pavlovian but brings forth the harsh truth of his situation. 

The quiet dependence Light has on L only exists because he has allowed it to. This is all of his fault.

The thought makes Light want to tear at his hair, to knock the other man down and splinter his skull against the white tiling under their feet.

”You missed a spot.”

Abruptly, a pale thumb brushes away the soapy remains of shower gel dripping down his neck. The pressure is light, airy almost, and causes the younger man’s body to tense, still as the dead. 

The soft gargling of the drain re-awakens him.

“Thank you.” Light turns to face the other man, flashing another one of his hollow, well-put-together smiles. L says nothing.

The younger man blinks, keeping his eyes above the neck and above the neck _only_ , unlike L who openly maps the the rigid lines and straight broadness of Light’s body.

He does so with the precision of a detective and the perversion of a _fag_. Bile, cool and thick, churns in Light’s gut.

The older man only stares wordlessly, lips curving. Light can’t tell whether it is a smile or a frown.

~

Light can’t ever remember loving Misa.

Seemingly important moments and milestones—the day they met and their first anniversary; where he had first laid eyes upon her and how they had fallen in love—are all lost on him. His lack of commitment to her both saddens and relieves him.

He agrees to go on dates with her, not out of adoration, but out of pity.

There is something akin to loneliness in her wide, crimson smiles.

”Aren’t you proud, Light? Misa’s gonna be the female _lead_!” She squeals, blonde pigtails bouncing up and down and Light can’t feel repulsed at the amount of sticky hair product she uses.

”Of course, Misa. You’re going to be amazing.” He smiles charmingly, a smile only reserved for guileless, uninteresting women, and she falls for it easily.

He tries to woo her, he tries to make her feel special and wanted and loved but finds his delivery is always a tad bit too flat, his own words tasting bland on his tongue.

There is something deeply wrong with Misa and him, an immense and irreparable imbalance within their dynamic.

Where Light is reserved and composed, she is excruciatingly candid in her expression. All her muscles jut up at once, lips parting and jaw slackening—she is a caricature of the ideal woman, a pretty little barbie doll with nothing valuable to say, a beauty that is only beautiful from a distance—yes, she is most certainly suited to the inauthentic life of an idol.

 _Perfect behind a camera and painful in person_ , he sighs internally.

He can’t ever imagine himself being with her.

”That is quite an achievement, Amane-san.” L quips from beside him, snacking on a packet of marshmallows.

She frowns, as though annoyed by his kind words, before slipping on an expression Light has deemed her ‘idol face’. It is a deep smile, one that makes her dimples pop prettily and eyes crinkle with a sultry touch of charm. It is too still, too perfect, to be true.

”Thanks, Ryuzaki,” she begins and Light can already hear her words before she’s spoken them.

”—You know, if I could be alone with Light for a few moments, it’d really make me happy. To celebrate as a couple! Can’t you do that? Please?” She tries and L blinks.

Light notices the grip on his marshmallow, an obscenely pink thing, increasing subtly.

”I’m afraid there’s no point in that. The team and I would still be monitoring you through the cameras in the room.” He states matter-of-factly and Light rejoices.

”Ugh. Come on, Ryuzaki. This is so unfair! Misa can’t even celebrate with _her_ boyfriend because you just want to loiter around him all day. It’s unfair and weird.” She falls back into her tone of petulance, the beautiful mask of an idol cracking and disintegrating into ash.

L hums thoughtfully.

”You wish to engage in sexual intercourse with Light-kun.”

At this, Misa gasps as though terribly offended and Light bristles, sensing that it’s time for him to step in.

He feels a heat bloom on his neck at the unadulterated bluntness of the older man’s words although it is stifled by the urge to snigger at Misa’s dumbfounded expression. He swallows down the boyishness that has overcome him and decides on diffusing the tension cooly.

”That’s a little crude of you, Ryuzaki.” He turns his head to see L perched like a prized canary singing a golden song.

“I was simply making an observation.” Taking another bite of his sweet, he blinks, and Light sighs carefully before adjusting his expression to be somewhat more diplomatic.

”Well, don’t. It’s offensive to Misa.” The blonde huffs, petal-like lips upturned into a sneer.

”I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it , you know what he’s like, but...Ryuzaki, can’t you spare us a little time?” He asks, eyes carefully trained on Misa. She doesn’t look at the two men but Light catches the hopeful loosening of her muscles, posture straightening instantaneously.

”I apologise, Amane-san, but I cannot leave you and Light alone,” L explains patiently to Misa, eyes shifting over to the younger man with a sly quickness and low baritone.

”—As long as he is under suspicion, he is mine just as much as he is yours.”

Light doesn’t like that his neck heats up again.

~

”What is it?” Light asks, gruffly.

”Amane-san seems to have taken a page out of your book.” The older man drawls slowly, chewing at his thumb whilst peering at his laptop screen.

Light loves to hate moments like this, wrapped up in the comfort of silken bedsheets and feathery, plush pillowcases and heavy, oppressive steel coiled so tightly around his wrist that he is afraid it might just _snap_.

It has become routine now. For the clicking of L’s keyboard to lull him to sleep, a macabre lullaby that sings of the darkness in his character, the weight of the crimes he has supposedly committed and that L will stop at nothing until he is punished—

”What?”

”Earlier today, she had abandoned her habit of referring to herself in third person when asking me to leave the room. I presume she thought it would bridge the emotional gap between her and I. A subtle persuasive tactic but manipulative nonetheless, wouldn’t you say so?” He explains dryly and Light sighs with a rough sort of impatience.

Light sits up, staring at the ceiling and blinking wearily. There is a heavy, cruel weight that lays itself upon his chest, clamping down into his ribcage. Something that drains him of the warmth in his body and leaves him a cold, shivering, pathetic mess.

He hates beating around the bush.

”Do you really think I’m Kira, L?”

” _Ryuzaki._ The older man corrects, spidery fingers crawling over his keyboard, and Light reels at his inexpressive monotone.

”Do you really think I’m Kira, _Ryuzaki_? Or are you just desperate to be right?” He stares, eyes hard—blazing with a unspoken humiliation.

The typing stops.

L’s head rolls upwards. His skin is eerily pale under the incandescent sheen of the moon, eyes brooding and wide and somehow, Light can see the cogs in his head—whirring and whirling, spinning furiously with the intention of criminalising him once more. 

”Yes, I do. I’ve always thought so.” He speaks lowly, raising his thumb up to his mouth and chewing.

“ _Why?_ ”

At this, L blinks curiously as though considering the question, himself. He keeps his eyes trained on Light and stares—intrusively and carefully as his wet, pink tongue darts out and licks the plump expanse of his bottom lip. Light watches, feeling his breath catch in his throat.

The air is taut and tense—high-strung like a piano string on the verge of snapping. Light feels strangely helpless.

He waits for L to spout his numbers and percentages for a painful eternity. When the older man speaks, his words are all intuition and no factuality. It shocks Light to the core.

“I’ve never met a person so similar to myself as you,” he begins carefully. “—Truly, Light-kun, I see myself every time I look at you. With that, I’ve learned that if there was some way for me to rid the world of injustice, I would take it no matter the cost.”

The delicate refinement that Light has crafted over the years cracks and crumbles and falls.

”—That is how I know you would too, even if it was utterly evil.”

L finishes unblinkingly, before digging into his pocket and fishing out a handful of toffee sweets.

Light doesn’t speak for the rest of the night.

~

He hates L so much.

~

“I sense that Light-kun may be harbouring some feelings of hostility towards me. Perhaps, if it would make him feel better, we should talk about it?”

Light looks deep into his eyes; obtrusive and dark and secretive and utterly genuine.

( _God_ , Light thinks. _He’s beautiful._ )

Later in the evening, Light wretches over a toilet bowl as L stares into his quivering back.

~

Light falls into a rigid, stifling routine of work work work. He scans through hundreds of reports, rewatches the same CCTV footage and is almost always scouring his emails incase his colleagues have found any valuable leads.

The weight of Kira is splayed across his chest and crushes his ribs into powder and dust and Light doesn’t think he’ll be able to breathe until the murderer is caught. 

Then, on a quiet Sunday afternoon, it all comes to fruition.

”Someone on the Yotsuba board is Kira...” L mumbles, obviously troubled by the revelation. “—But not the original. He could never be the original.”

Light’s head begins to spin at the older man’s words—that disgustingly light tone muffled by the thumb in mouth. In that voice, there lies a hint of disgust and lament and _respect_?

He ignores the cruel longing in him—something that yearns for L to speak of him with the same passion.

~

”The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again; but already it was impossible to say which was which.”

”Orwell?” L asks plainly and Light notes the twang of distaste in the older man’s lips.

”Not a fan?”

”Mm,” he thinks, rubbing his eye wearily. “I am, although I can’t say that I care for this particular piece.”

Light closes the book shut and places it beside him. He hates the hunched tightness of L’s back and the close of proximity of his body. Gently gently, the rattling of a chain rings through the air. 

”Why is that? It’s a classic.” He questions smoothly.

L pauses in thought before answering.

”I don’t think it’s an honest book despite it being an allegory for the Russian Revolution,” he murmurs. “While its representation of tyranny and totalitarianism is truthful, I don’t think it captured the resilience of the human spirit. I think people are more eager to take a stand against perceived injustices,” 

”—That, and I don’t like sad endings.”

Light blinks carefully. He hadn’t known L was such an optimist. The older man sighs, as though the very thing has been trapped in his lungs for decades.

The sweetness of his breath delicately tickles Light’s nose. It smells of glazed cherries and fresh strawberries and ( _ ~~I wonder how he tastes~~_ ) 

”Do you think Kira is one of those people? Do you think, that in his mind, he believes he’s taking a stand?”

Softly softly, L encroaches closer and closer. A dreadful faintness floods Light, as though is drowning under crashing waves and L is high above him on dry land. He thinks he’s going to be sick.

”Yes and no. I do think that Kira believes he’s doing the right thing and that he’s taking a vital stand against the evils of society. But, I also think that Kira is a narcissist to the core. After all, who is _he_ to pass his judgement upon the criminals of this world? What qualifies _him_ to murder in cold blood and call it justice? No, this isn’t about justice anymore—it’s about control. It’s about someone feeling powerful, it’s someone about holding the world in their palms and feeling it tremble.”

”—That is why I cannot allow him to win. Because what he believes is justice, is undoubtedly a massacre. If don’t intervene, he will be the only murderer to survive it.” His voice is steady and smooth as the high planes of his cheekbones. It is his words that are fiery and dark as his eyes. 

There is an anger about L, one that only Light (and most probably, Watari) could detect. It’s subtle and manifests in the quiet paling of his knuckles, the slight tensing of his jaw, the darkening of those already impossibly dark eyes. 

”We’ll catch him, Ryuzaki. He’ll pay for what he’s done.” Light offers a consoling pat on the back and stifles the acrid taste on his tongue as he does so.

He expects for L to fall back into his dry, accusatory sense of humour and say something stupid like _Yes, I will catch you Light-kun_.

Instead, the detective only looks saddened as he lays down and turns his back to Light. 

~

Some mornings, they awaken in each other’s arms. The chain that binds them strains against their limbs, wraps uncomfortably around their legs and forces them even closer to one another.

”Get off me.” Light murmurs dully.

L only wraps his arms tighter around Light and a disquieting sense of comfort tears its way into his chest. The sinew of L’s arms, that deliciously warm flesh—it feels like home, like happiness but only so much more potent. He wouldn’t mind being held like this for the rest of his days.

( _He’s a man. He’s a man. You’re letting a man hold you. He’s a fucking man, this is fucking sick and you’re fucking disgusting_.)

Misa has never made him feel this way.

”Get off of me, you fucking faggot!” He shouts this time.

L is visibly startled by his outburst, eyes snapping open. Light pushes his way out of their mess of an embrace and the older man can only watch in the curious, cruel way that he does everything.

“Don’t touch me again.” Light orders, calmer this time. His eyes are clouded with tiredness, lips upturned in a troubled sneer and L blinks wearily.

”If that makes you more comfortable.” He agrees quietly, thumb in his mouth once more.

~

Light can’t look at him anymore without feeling his chest burn so, eventually, he stops looking at the older man all together.

~

All it takes is a bottle of Sake and drunken courage for him to kiss L.

At first, the older man is unmoving and rigid against his own body. Light is too hot and too bothered to care, clutching L’s face with both of his hands and drawing him in closer.

”Light-kun is currently intoxicated.” L murmurs against his lips, voice lower than anything Light’s ever heard before. It’s gorgeous.

”No. No, I know what I’m doing.”

”Light-kun will regret this in the morning.” L reaffirms stiffly. Light tugs at his shirt, desperately trailing kisses down his jaw and onto his neck.

”I don’t care. I want you fuck me. I want you to fuck me until I can’t breathe—“ But before he can continue his sloppy, faintly humiliating rant, L grips his jaw and steadies him.

The older man regards him carefully for a long moment. The glassy coolness that L wears so well is but a distant dream. Even in this hazy, wanton twilight, Light swears that L is affected by his kiss. The detective stares and he stares right back, an eternity slipping right by them.

And Light shrinks under his gaze, cheeks glistening red and mouth swollen, because how can he not? It’s L and everything about L is so utterly overwhelming and intimidating and exhilarating.

“Yes, Light-kun will most certainly regret this in the morning. Let’s get him into bed.” A dull sense of dejection throbs within the younger man as he is guided to the bedroom. L’s pale fingertips rest on the hips and he’s never hated clothing so badly.

He thirsts for the feel of L’s skin on his own.

L lays him down wordlessly. He removes the shoes, then his socks and stops at his shirt. Bitter, petulant tears collect in Light’s eyes. This is all so humiliating, this is all so below him—Light Yagami, child prodigy and tennis champion, walking perfection.

”Light,” L begins, having noticed the wetness trickling down the younger man’s temple and into his hair. “—Believe me when I say this. I’m not rejecting you, I simply want this to be more than a drunken, sloppy encounter,”

Light’s eyes are screwed shut but he feels the amused air that L breathes out against the shell of his ear.

“—Because when I fuck you, you’re going to feel it.”

~

The night comes back to him in fragments. They’re sharp and cut him to pieces as he remembers every kiss and whimper and word. It felt so good, it felt so right and so wrong all at once.

He’s disgusted in himself.

Never has the body of a man enticed him. Never has he wanted the feel of broad, calloused fingertips on his flesh, never has he wanted a rough, demanding mouth against his own and a nice, thick cock stretching him out—

It’s immoral. It’s taboo. It’s filth.

But when L kisses him after a long day of thoughtful, heavy silence, he can’t help but melt into his mouth.

( _Faggot. Faggot. Faggot._ )

~

There is domesticity in their new routine.

Waking up to soft kisses and a hand wrapped around his cock, writhing into L’s chest and begging for release. Cleaning off in the shower and returning the favour with his mouth. Eating a simple breakfast of rice and miso soup whilst L nibbles on his candies. Working long into the afternoon. Lunchtime. Finishing off reports until the evening. Dinner time. L fucking him against every hard surface in his ( _their_?) bedroom. Brushing his teeth and washing his face. Sleeping in L’s arms, only to wake up and repeat the process.

And somehow today feels completely different. It feels heavier. It feels guiltier.

”Light-kun carries an immense amount of internal homophobia,” L begins, brushing his fingertips against the younger man’s cheekbones. “—Might I ask why?”

”I’m not gay.”

L smiles, small and indiscriminate. It’s the type of smile that rests in one’s eyes as opposed to their lips. Light falters at the sight of it.

”Forgive me for assuming then,” He gestures to their naked bodies. “—But us lying naked in bed after I fucked you, and rather thoroughly might I add, could be perceived as somewhat...gay.” This is all too amusing to L and it sickens Light to the core.

The coarseness of profanity on his tongue is both shocking and delicious. Light sighs, hating himself so deeply that it aches.

”I don’t love you. How could I be gay?” He cringes against his L’s chest because the words sound so tone-deaf and stupid to his own ears that he can’t even imagine what they sound like to L.

They are not the words of Japan’s top student, the are not the word’s of To-oh’s valedictorian or the word’s of the NPA’s future. They are the words of a scared, confused teen boy and Light has already proven that he is so much more than that.

L is pleased by this because he’s L and everything is one big joke to him. Justice, politics, the world itself—everything is so stupid and pales in comparison to the truth of his mind therefore it is not worthy of being addressed with sincerity or seriousness.

Everything is funny to a man who lives in a world of fools and, yet, when L speaks to him next, he speaks with an indescribable gravity. He is wise in this moment. He is more than the letter L. He is a person, a friend, a _lover_. 

”This doesn’t make you imperfect, Light,” He starts off gently, breath cool and voice slow as though explaining a complex concept to a small child. “—It is just another part of you, albeit minuscule and much less important than the other parts of yourself,” He kneads his fingers into Light’s hair, white sinking into auburn.

“—Listening to your body is not a crime, Light. Tell me, does it feel good when I do this?” L continues his ministrations, leaning closer to Light’s excruciatingly still expression.

“Yes.”

”Then how could it possibly be bad?”

Light smiles, sharp and soft.

”I didn’t know you were such a hedonist.”

L kisses him, although it is chaste and simple.

”I can’t help myself when it comes to you.” He admits, a wise sort of sadness swirling around in those terrible eyes of his.

~

A disquieting comfort fills him wholly. 

Misa decides to play the sacrificial lamb. Light rejoices at having her occupy his mind.

”No, I can’t allow this.” He feigns outrage, eyebrows furrowed and mouth agape in horror and he can just _feel_ the girlish excitement tingling in her bones at his display.

”But Light, if anyone can do it, it’s Misa!” She pleads and Light only resolves to be more brazen and loving and cruel. L’s curious eyes remain on him and it burns.

“I don’t care. You could die.”

“Do you not believe in Misa?” She asks shrilly and the sound grates upon his ear drums. L’s thoughtful baritone is scarily preferably to girlishness of Misa’s voice.

 _Be loving be concerned be everything she wants and everything you can’t be_ , he tells himself.

”It’s not about that—it’s about...” And he loses his words as he loses all sense of himself because what is this truly about?

A cool monotone shatters him.

Misa’s blond head rolls over in L’s direction surprisedly, as just having remembered his presence in room.

”I believe what Light-Kun is trying to say is that he is concerned for your wellbeing. As passionate as he is about taking down Kira, I’m sure he is more passionate about the life of his partner.”

His voice is as silken as the bedsheets they share.

Misa’s eyes snap hopefully back to Light, who quickly regains his composure. He feels sick.

”Yeah,” Light breathes. “—He’s right, I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Misa squeals and embraces him, her breasts pushing up against him and it’s nauseating because there is no rigid, angular planes to her body, only smooth curves and gentle dips and it’s _wrong_.

”I’ll be fine, Light. I promise you, I’d never do anything to jeopardise our relationship!” Her eyes are rimmed with softness and adoration, lips quirking up gently and he hates himself because she deserves so much more than a queer for a boyfriend.

”Alright.” He relents.

He relents without a care in the world because he wishes that it were L in his arms, not her.

~

L realises that he loves Light in the simplest of ways.

The boy sleeps next to him and L watches him, wondering how such brilliant, beautiful creature is so stupid when it comes to his own emotions.

He wonders how Light can deprive himself of what his soul pleads for. He wonders how Light can pretend to not want him when Light is all he could ever want.

And then it hits him. Light is the only equal he has ever had in this world, the only case he has not solved and the only challenge that he has not overcome. Light is evil and perfect, sinister and sweet.

He loves Light and hopes, quietly, that for the first time in his life, he is wrong about a case.

~

Light remembers everything all at once.

_A little black book, Ryuk’s terrible sneer, name after name after name, rotten apple cores, smeared ink, the eyes of death, Kira, Rem, dust, blood in his mouth and paper in his hands, father’s tired face, Kira, Seeing God in his reflection, Lindt L Tailor falling to the ground, Kira, more apples, Kira, Raye Penbar’s last breath, Naomi Mizora’s noose, more blood, Kira, guilt, waking up with tears in his eyes and salt in his mouth, red, who could’ve done this but him, pride, only he was fit for the job, Kira,intellect, God resting within the chasm of his chest, turning the page, giving it all up, Kira, Ryuk cackling distantly, men in suits, gold, a clock ticking, he is benevolent, Kira, this is what it means it be a God—_

”Light!”

L’s voice rips him away from it all. Those gentle, pathetic fingertips brush his palm, those soft, stupid eyes search his own face wearily.

He ~~loves~~ pities this man.

Biting back a smile, he answers.

”I’m fine.”

~

Light feels more like himself these days.

That childish doubt that once ate away at him is but a thing of the past. He is a man now, a God living amongst mortals. He has a mission. He can’t afford to fail—or to lose.

He kisses L just as fiercely as he did before, falls into his embraces just as easily as he did before, loves him just as painfully as he did before. L has always been an enigma, a puzzle to unravel and undo and Light understands that he’s so close to reaching the end of this all—the answer.

L is on edge, stiff and frigid and ghastly imitation of what Light used to be when he couldn’t deal with the idea of liking cock up his ass and cum in his mouth and it makes him laugh and cry all at once because it would _nice_ if things could be different.

It would nice if Ryuzaki and Asahi were real and if Kira and L weren’t. It would be nice if they met under different circumstances, perhaps through mutual friends or at a bar, or even bumping into each other in the terrible way that the protagonists of every shitty romantic comedy do.

It would be nice, to not have something within you that wants to _obliterate_ the love of your life—a thought, a feeling, a voice.

But niceness is incomparable to reality. Kira and L are very real, grounded in fact. Not feeling. They are enemies, rivals and they will fight to the death. It is shameful, it is blasphemous, that Light has forgotten that in a flurry of stolen kisses and empty embraces.

 **God has no business fawning over mortals**.

~

“Light, after all of this, can we get married?” Misa asks him, one stormy night.

Misa, his Goddess, his Queen, his most favoured acolyte. He wants to take the glass of wine in her hand, smash it upon her head and cut her throat with the shards.

 **Were you going to marry _him_ , Light? Were you going to elope with that immoral, vile detective and tie yourself to him forever? Does our cause mean so little to you?** Kira taunts distantly.

He kisses Misa and she kisses him back.

~

”Harder!” Light buries his head into the mattress. L breathes lowly from behind him, grunting through the sound of flesh slapping together.

**This is immoral.**

”Are you sure? You might be sore later—“

**This is taboo.**

Light arches his back expertly, rocking back into L’s thrust. The pace is agonising, ripping him from within. He whines, desperate for more.

**This is filth.**

”I said _harder_!” He growls, looking over his shoulder. Light is vaguely aware of how animal he must look, teeth bared and strings of spittle clinging to them.

L grunts, knitting his fingers into the younger man’s hair and _pulling_. He yanks Light up onto his knees and thunders into him, his free hand sliding over to Light’s throbbing cock and rubbing it viciously.

”Is this hard enough, Light-kun?” He asks against Light’s blushing ears. His only answer is a deep, guttural whine.

”I asked you a question, Light-Kun. Answer. _Me_. Is this hard enough?” L punctuates his words with slower, deeper thrusts and Light feels something inside of himself tear and _bleed_. It hurts so good that Light can’t help but want more.

” _Nnnng_...yes!” He answers.

 **You’re not fit to be God,** Kira whispers in his ear.

  
”Don’t stop...” He pleads to L, desperate to drown out the cruel voice in his head.

**You’re not fit to do his work.**

L kisses him and he explodes.

**Immoral. Taboo. Filth. Light Yagami, know what you are. You are lecherous and a slave to your emotions. You are haughty child, an overconfident boy, but never a God. Never Kira.**

And when he comes down from the high of orgasm, he notices that he’s crying. L notices too, but says nothing.

~

Everything has been prepared. L’s death is set in stone. Light, for the first time in years, is happy.

”Do you hear the bells?” L murmurs, voice muffled by the rain that pelts down on them and the howling of the wind.

Light asks him to repeat himself. L looks so pathetic, so small, under the darkness of the evening sky. It makes him want to laugh.

 **He is but a corpse now.** Kira (or is it Light?) remarks smugly. These days, he can’t quite tell the difference between the two. 

No, no, he’s got it all wrong. Light and Kira are the same entity. They are God. They are justice. They are a bored schoolboy walking home with a black book in his backpack.

When L asks him if he’s ever told the truth, _Kira-Light_ almost doubles over in laughter. This criminal who masquerades as a detective, this blasphemer who pretends to live by gospel, this liar who acts as though he understands truth, sounds so vulnerable that it’s nothing less than comical.

Was a pretty face all it took to defeat L?

”I don’t understand what you mean, L.” He feigns innocence, just for the fun of it and L can tell but doesn’t call him out on it. He has no _proof_.

Light is thankful for the rain and the clouds and the darkness because he is able to smile freely.

 **God tells no lies**.

~

L had known it as soon as Light stopped screaming. That perverse, cruel smugness had reappeared like a thick cloud of miasma—suffocating him by the second.

Something in Light had shattered then re-pieced itself back together. He was the same yet completely different. He was Light and Kira all at once.

There was that disgusting quivering of his lips, a smile that the world was to not see, a joke that only Light was in on. There was that nauseating redness to his eyes, maliciously phosphorescent, as though there was something that Light could see and L could not.

_“I’m fine.” Light said and L had known that he wasn’t._

He had known it in Light’s voice as it grew colder and more distant with every word.

He had known it in Light’s touches as they grew more feverish and frantic with every fuck.

He had known it in Light’s tears as he lay naked underneath L, muttering apologies to someone that was not there.

He had known it under a raining sky as he had asked Light to tell the truth and the boy, in all of his brilliance and beauty, had lied.

He drops down onto his knees and wipes Light clean of the rain. He does it, not to plead for his life, but as a final thanks.

He knows that Light had loved him, once, even if he doesn’t now.

~

”Watari?” Light hears the trembling in his voice, the urgency as L cranes his head up at the screen before them.

“ _Watari_!”

**It is no use. L, your time is up. You have lost the game that you swore on winning. Feel fear. Feel shame. Feel sadness. Feel the weight of God’s punishing hands around your neck.**

The screen fades out—a deathly black.

Red, flashing lights, confused silence and dark eyes blinking hurriedly.

”I told him to delete all of the files in case something happened to him—“

A gasp.

He collapses and Kira falls with him, holds him in his arms. It is all tenderness and cruelty and love and hate.

”L? L? What’s happening? Can you answer me, L?” His voice is panicked where his eyes are still, molten and red and brimming with self-satisfaction.

He smiles, gently, and mouths the words ‘ _You lost_ ’

L dies, knowing that he was right and hating himself for it.

~

L dies and loses. Kira lives and succeeds.

Light holes himself up into the room they once shared and cries. He cries and cries and cries and cries until he can’t cry anymore.

The taste of victory is so sweet that it sickens him.

Light isn’t sure of when he began to love L so deeply.


End file.
